


Feathers

by junipernapalm



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 12:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2651321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipernapalm/pseuds/junipernapalm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even as time goes by, you never really forget the friends you make. A little short about Wirt and Beatrice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

People say spring is beautiful because of the renewal of life. Maybe that is true, but Wirt isn’t sure. He looks around at the final glimpses of winter melting away, and he feels that sense of longing for the dead of winter and the dying of autumn. He thought he felt this way because of the inherent ennui of life, but now he isn’t quite sure. He can only be thankful for the overcast days of spring where it almost feels like a less cheerful season. He misses a lot of things on those kinds of days. He knows what it is but feels like he can’t say anything about it. If he did, people wouldn’t believe him, and he is still too self-conscious enough to not care.

“Are you listening, Wirt?” Sara says.

Sara cocks her head to the side and waves her hand in front of Wirt’s face. He is still looking off to the side, seemingly at nothing. Eventually he looks back, and notices Sara. He feels bad about how things are for them now. If he could say something to Sara it would go along the lines of relationships being too adult for two people barely out of childhood. However, he can’t manage the words to even describe what is going on now with him, a first for his normally over poetic self, but he knows that what is wrong is him. At least, this is what he tells himself.

“Look I think we should just be friends,” Sara says.

“Yeah,” Wirt says.

Off in the distance, a bird’s call distracts him. He listens to the call intently, as if he could pick what bird is actually making the call. He hopes it’s particular bird even though it’s not _that_ particular bird. From the recently budding trees, a streak of blue flies away, enough for Wirt to smile.

“Are you okay?” Sara asks.

“Huh?” Wirt says.

“You’re crying.”

Wirt puts his hand on his cheeks and confirms the truth. He wipes the tears from his face and smiles.

“Sorry, I just saw a bluebird,” Wirt says.

“A bluebird? Around here?” Weird. They’re usually by the cemetery.”

“Really? Sorry, I have to get going.”

 

_“Why do you have that feather pinned to your chest?” Sara asks._

_She points directly at the bluebird feather Wirt haphazardly glued and wrapped to a safety pin. Gregory assisted in making the pin, and they share wearing the pin. He lets Gregory wear the pin most days because he always wants to wear the pin, and Wirt doesn’t mind. Today just happens to be the day he gets to wear the pin, on his sweater and over his heart._

_“It’s a reminder of a friend,” Wirt says._

_Sara nods and then scratches her head._

_“So did you just find a bluebird feather?” she asks._

_“Something like that,” Wirt says._

_Sara rubs the feather between her fingers and smiles at Wirt._

_“Maybe you can tell me about that friend later,” she says._

Wirt runs back home and straight to his room. He pulls his closet apart in search for the Halloween costume he wore last year. Luck is on his side, and the costume is still there and in relative sight. He dons the cape and decides that wearing that old hat isn’t a good idea this time of year. He takes off the feather pin from his sweater and pins it to his cape. Then Wirt finds one of his battery-operated cassette tape players and stuffs a cassette into his pocket before remembering that he also wants to bring his clarinet. Everything seems like a necessity for him even though it is not. He strolls down the stairs where Gregory is playing with his frog and singing an impromptu silly song. Gregory stops though as he sees his brother leaving, recognizing the costume, and follows after him.

“Hey Wirt? Are you going on an adventure?” Gregory asks.

“Something like that. Are you coming along?” Wirt asks.

“Of course!”

Wirt takes hold of Gregory’s hand and leads them towards the cemetery. He looks over at the garden’s wall, and he knows that certain things are real and others a part of his imagination. The older he’s getting, the more he wishes the parts of his imagination were real. This is why he hopes Gregory never grows old the way he has. He needs to have some part of that imagination alive in himself to even believe in what happened to them.

 

_Wirt looks at the scissors in his hand, simple but still rather ornate embroidery scissors with a crane blade. He crouches down and looks down at the bluebird in front of him. He’s about to cry, and he knows it. He fights all the parts of him that say to let go because if he’s learned anything, sometimes you have to be brave. Beatrice is much braver than him. She looks completely solemn but in a way happy. Wirt’s hands tremble, as they get closer to the bluebird’s wings. He stops with the ends of the scissors pointing at Beatrice’s wings._

_“You know, if I cut your wings, you’ll never be able to fly again,” Wirt says._

_“I know, but if you don’t do this, I’ll never know if she was right all along,” Beatrice says._

_There is no reason not to believe the old woman Adelaide, and this moment is not the moment to play it safe like Wirt typically does. Beatrice spreads her wings for Wirt to finally cut them. He’s too nervous about making a mistake still, but he slowly lets the scissors cut through the feathers and take one wing. He takes a deep breath and makes the second cut faster, so he doesn’t have to be disappointed in case nothing happens. The feathers float down to the ground, and the wind starts to blow strongly. Wirt blocks the wind from his face with his arm, and as sudden as the wind came, the strong gust moves away. Wirt lowers his arms and sees a girl his age lying on the ground._

_Beatrice stares at her hands. To Wirt, she looks absolutely relieved. Everything worked out, and that means her family coming back. He takes her hand and pulls her up onto her feet. They stare at each other, not sure whether to greet each other as old friends or as strangers. Tears well in her eyes, and Wirt can only cry too._

_“Wirt?” She says._

_“What?” he says._

_“You’re crying.”_

_“I know.”_

_She smiles and pushes Wirt’s tears aside._

_“Thank you,” Beatrice says as she presses a kiss to Wirt’s cheek._

_Wirt grabs the embroidery scissors from the ground and takes her hand. He puts the scissors flat onto her hand and folds her fingers gently over the scissors. She stoops down and picks one of the few feathers still left. She takes out Wirt’s hand and puts the feather in his hand._

_“Goodbye Beatrice.”_

_“Goodbye Wirt.”_

“Are you going up the wall? I’m going up the wall!” Gregory says as he already gets his footing on the wall.

Wirt hesitates but quickly follows Gregory up the wall, thinking about his dreams and making up poems. As he swings his legs over the wall, he looks up at the sky and notices a family of bluebirds flying from their nest. He smiles and drops to the other side of the wall.

 

Sweet but somewhat lonely clarinet sounds fill the air.  Beatrice lifts her head up in an attempt to hear the music. The sound is a little off to Beatrice. Her brothers and sisters look at her confused and ask her repeatedly if something is wrong like little chicks chirping at their mother. But she doesn’t answer them because they wouldn’t understand the feeling of having one’s heart pulled by a string that you have no idea where it is pulling from.

Beatrice leaves her house in pursuit of the music. She’s never heard this music before, but she swears it feels familiar. The music isn’t quite clear, but she follows it the best she can. Through the mud and fallen branches left over from the winter, Beatrice searches until she sees the source of music. A wide smiles spreads on her face. Her feet can’t run fast enough.

 

“Hello Wirt.”

“Hello Beatrice.”


End file.
